The Pond

(I wrote this poem well over a year ago and recently rediscovered it while cleaning out my art studio.)

At the end of my street there is a place

with many special things.

Where bunnies hop and birds fly low

and bullfrogs like to sing.

I go there with my mama

and sometimes Da-Da, too.

We even take my sister

who is brand spankin’ new.

I ride in my big wagon

until we reach the spot.

The pond! We’re here!

Feet hit the ground, and off I quickly trot!

I blow the cattails watching their seeds fly far away.

I hide deep within the bushes and always want to stay.

We wander through nature’s beauty

as it always gives its best.

It teaches me what’s important.

About life and friends and nests.

Then my legs get tired and rubbery

and I climb back in my cart.

Up the hill toward home we go

toting memories and happy hearts.